Not Just A Dream
by Syrina Kamar
Summary: Seven boys in a picture. Only five are here today. Where are the other two? Well, that's easy, i see the tough looking one every night when i sleep. (rating "general" for now, later to be determined further into story)


**hey, i...omg! i just got a huge headache all of the sudden, so i will make this quick: i love you all so much that i am starting another story, so dont make me regret this...please, so i need your reviews. **

**thanks guys, so i hope you love this :D**

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It has been going on for a while now, six years today. I could never tell my dad –even if he is the most understanding guy I know- I can't tell Ponyboy either (he is my uncle, but I call him by his name), even with how much we have in common; he would probably just say that I have the same wild imagination as him, then drop the subject. Even my uncle Darrel (everybody calls him Darry) would just say "Just like your Uncle Pony", he doesn't understand what am imagination is.

When my uncle found me on their doorstep the day after I was born, there was a note saying how noisy I was for a baby my age, from my mother- she said it was "ad-normal" and how it was "Driving her crazy" (I don't care. She left me. I don't even remember her name…Sandra or Sandy or something). My screaming was out of control, "Like a siren" is what they told me Uncle Keith said, hence, my name: Serena. I even supposedly made noise when I slept, and would never get much sleep and be cranky all day. But ever since it started, I would actually _look forward_ to sleep. And I sleep peaceful now. It was my tenth birthday…

* * *

_We had just eaten a purple chocolate cake, ten-layers (my dad always cooks food weird like that). And we were just finishing opening up presents. Pony gave me a notebook, a real big one too! 700 pages! My dad and Darry gave me a new pair of boots_ _(it was time for a new pair –according to them- anyways. I thought I had finally just got them perfect. But the new ones lasted longer). And my Uncle Steve (he is not an uncle by blood, but he is _always_ around. So he is like an uncle) got me some strange gadget to help me loosen nails and bolts on tires and stuff. But what shocked everybody was what Keith gave me (they call him "Two-Bit" because of his funny personality, but I think that sounds dumb. So he is Uncle Keith [once again: not by blood]). He gave me a switchblade. _

_There must have been something wrong with that, because Pony's eyes got red, and Darry had sent me to bed. But not before Keith could tell me: "A very special friend gave that to me man years ago, and now I am trusting you with it. Can I do that?"_

_It was one of the only times I had ever seen him so serious, so of course I said "yes"_

_But when I fell asleep, there was another birthday surprise waiting. _

_I was dreaming of myself stealing hubcaps off of some mustang's tires tomorrow, when a boy started talking:_

"_You know, I was arrested for the first time when I was ten" a rough voice said, "a whole month too…"_

"_Really?" I was in awe, "How come?"_

"_Ever hear of 'Dine-n-Dash'?" he sounds like Rumplestilskin. I nod; he crosses his arms and nods his head too._

"_Well I never get caught. I'm as sly as a fox and about as small as one to," it's true, I was small for my age. At the time, "who are you anyway? Uncle Darry says not to talk to strangers."_

"_Of course he does…say, can I see that blade of yours?"I hand it to him without hesitation; "hmmm…" he inspects it, and then places it back in my hand without a word._

"'_hmm' what?" I ask, attitude present in my voice. _

"_I'd know that blade anywhere."_

"_Why?" I ask firmly._

"_That there switch in your hand, killed a kid." I hadn't noticed I was gripping it so tightly. And suddenly; I felt like I've known him for years._

_We talked for a while, and it was strange how much he knew about me. Not a whole lot, but just stuff about my family, and their names and stuff. "Why do you know me so well?"_

"_Well, I think there is some kind of connection. Considering you were born the day I died." He seems unfazed; like what he had just said was normal. And I don't like it, it all just sounds so suspicious. _

"_What's your name?"_

"_Don't you know me? I'm sure they've talked about me." I shake my head. "Typical Pony." He mumbles, "Well, I'm Dal…" he didn't finish, Ponyboy came in to wake me up for school. I asked him the next night, he acted like he didn't hear me. I asked again a few weeks later, and he replied: _

"_When you can show me your driver's license, then I will show you mine."_

* * *

And that's just it; I never wanted my 16th birthday to come for what all the other girls want, like respect or to be allowed to date –I don't really give a rat's ass about boys, and I've got all the respect I need from anybody –and sometimes they want a car so they could be popular. But I think the popular are losers. They'd be all like "oh, I want a car for my birthday" and I'd be all "really?" and they'd be all, "Doesn't everybody?" and I'm all "Bull shit! I want a license to be able to tell my dad about my imaginary ghost friend who visits me every night!" hahaha! They'd think I was crazy, but if I had a name they would all need to believe me!

I was never able to ask about my knife either, Ponyboy or anybody else would have asked "Who told you that?" and "Dal" is exactly the best answer -for a question like that- in the world. But tomorrow morning, I will know, and I will find out who that boy is!

When I finally decide to get out of bed, I go into the kitchen to make breakfast…only to see that it is just barely four in the morning. Maybe I could watch the sunrise later.

I don't get it, Ponyboy loves the sunset, but I don't see what is so special about it. I love the sunrise because it's the start of a new day. But when you look at the sunset, the day is ending, and you are left in the dark. With a sunrise, it lasts longer, and you still have the warm sunlight afterwards. He says that they are gold, but all I see is orange; but tens and hundreds of different shades of orange…but the sun doesn't come up for another few hours. So I pull out a photo album.

It's mostly pictures of my dad, Steve, and Ponyboy. But there are also some group pictures as well; I can easily tell who is who. One picture, they are all sitting and laughing. In another, everybody is –what looks like to me- standing on the side of an empty pool, the one right below it, they are jumping off of it. On the next page, all the boys are lined up and leaning against a wooden porch in front of a house, they all look so happy. My father's eyes are bright and happy; Darry's eyes look friendly (even with the icy blue color), Keith looks like he is about to burst into laughter as he puts his hand behind Steve's head (the picture was snapped right before he could do something, is what it looks like). But in all the pictures, there are seven boys. Seven boys in a picture, only five are here today. So where are the other two? Well, that's easy, I see the tough looking one every night when I sleep. But who is the small dark haired one?

Before I could figure it out, I fall asleep. Right there on the chair.

* * *

"_Happy sweet 16, Dearie!" hey smiles a beautiful, sexy lopsided grin –'sexy'? Since when do I think like that? - I didn't think I would see him until tonight._

"_Thank you, my greasy hoodlum," I smile, most of the time I call him Dal, "Alright! Enough chit-chat!" he puts his hands up in surrender, "What's your name?"_

"_Dallas Winston!" he says proudly._

"_Dallas Winston?"_

"_In the flesh." She smiles, "I'm sure you've heard my name around town before."_

"_Hmm…I don't think so…" I have. I hear his name almost every day. Some teenager would say "It wasn't me!" then the unconvinced cop would say "Well who was it then?" and the teen in trouble would say "It was Dallas Winston!" and the next thing you know, the cop is putting the hand cuffs on the teen._

"_Well, 'Dallas'…"I start and he cuts me off._

"_Dally…call me Dally."_

"_Dally…you look really sexy." I state. It's true, he does; he's got white-blonde hair, and muscles…lots and lots of them –but not too big, that would scare me. But just right- the perfect build, he's wearing the same thing he has worn every night for the past six years: dark blue jeans, black boots, a dark brown slightly-burned leather jacket, and no shirt._

"_I would say the same thing… but Soda hates when I say I'm prettier than him. So…" he cuts himself off. I laugh. "Hey, I'll see you to…" before he finishes, I wake up._

* * *

"7:45" my clock reads. There is a sticky note stuck to my forehead…Typical 'Sodapop'.

_Hey baby girl! Happy birthday! Come to the DX, I have a whole day planed out._

_Love, Sodapop "Daddy" Curtis_

Hey could improve his spelling. I get dressed and put on my gloves. I wear blue skinny jeans, a black tank-top, black lace-up combat boots, and elbow-high brown leather gloves, a red winter hat, and a jean vest every day. Except, sometimes I wear different colored tank-tops. I like to shake things up. Some might think its old fashion, but I'd rather be hated for who I am, than liked for who I'm not. I lock the door on my way out.

Nobody in my family ever thought that it was weird that I never had any friends. I'm not a loner or anything, I have school friends. But not people I would hang out with on the weekends, not buddies. Keith says that the gang was so popular in the 60's, and if a teenage girl wants to hang out with them 16 years later, then they must "still got it" is what he said. But Keith did _just_ drop out of high school when I was a freshman…

"GREASER!" some Soc yells as they drive by in their fancy car. I flip them off.

People stopped calling each other "greaser" and "Soc" a few years back, I still remember it, it was terrible! People would jump each other for fun. Then it died down, but then, they announced they were making a movie of some book someone in our town wrote. Darry wouldn't let me read it, but now people started up the rivalry again. So it's becoming normal again.

I open the door to the store part of the DX, "Hi Daddy!" I treat myself to my own birthday gift by taking a pack of gum and stuffing it in my bra. It's a little trick I picked up from Keith. He also taught me a game when I was about two. He would put a piece of candy in his back pocket, and if I got it out of his pocket without him noticing, I got to eat it "as long as I didn't tell uncle Darry". But if Keith caught me, I had to watch _him_ eat the whole thing. Later I learned it was called "Pick-pocketing".

"Daddy!" I run up and hug him. We're close.

"Hey baby girl! Happy birthday…my baby's not a baby anymore!" he almost cries. He doesn't notice I take his wallet out of his back pocket.

I let out a fake gasp when he releases me, "what's this?" I pull out twenty dollars, "Money for Sodapop's favorite daughter to take her father and Uncle Steve to lunch?" I give him his wallet back.

"C'mon Steve! Serena's taking us to lunch!"

I take another pack on my way out.

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**hey, i started the next chapter in a notebook (yes, i still use paper *gasp*) **

**do you love it? i need to know what story i should work on more, so please review both this and "Burning Daisies"**

**thank you, but, i have one question: who is your favorite character in _The Outsiders_ ? i would like to know. **

**thank you, stay gold,**

**-Syrina Kamar :D**


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